


Upon a light leak, and two pairs of dancing shoes

by enjoura



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: 00Q - Freeform, Anniversary, Dancing, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Photographs, Presents, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 18:56:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/601031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enjoura/pseuds/enjoura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Well… I have no idea what to, you know, give you."<br/>"Oh. You don't need to get me anything. I'm just happy spending time with you, alone, just you and I. I don't require anything but your presence, preferably: naked."<br/>Bond was out of his mind –no, he was batshit, goddamn insane– if he thought Q wasn't going to get him a present.</p><p>Based on this prompt: Bond and Q’s first anniversary as a couple, Q wants to get Bond the perfect gift but nothing seem’s right. Bond is just happy spending time alone with Q. Submitted by littlemizzbackwards from tumblr on 00Q-Archive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Upon a light leak, and two pairs of dancing shoes

He could feel the light ticking of the kitchen clock, he couldn't ignore it this time, he couldn't fall asleep. The sheets weren't feeling right, he wasn't comfortable enough –despite that he was lying in the same position he slept in everyday– and Bond's arms were too hot, too heavy, and Q just wanted to stand up, and go jogging if it was necessary. But he didn't, and instead he shifted a bit.

How did the man lying beside him managed to stay so calm all the time?

"OK. Spit it out, kiddo." Lately, James had gotten in the habit to affectionately calling him 'kiddo'. Q didn't mind the nickname, as long as it remained between them.

"What?" He asked distractedly. "Are you into spitting?"

"Ha, ha," he laughed sarcastically. "Don't play coy, I already know you're not a prim, and I also know something is wrong with you."

"Well, it's been almost a year, I think you can live with it, whatever it happens to be what you just discovered."

"Am I going to have to get it out with a corkscrew?"

"It's nothing, James," Q sighed. Bond knew when to let go, he always lets go to whatever the younger man said when he called him James.

"Sure? OK."

Q felt one of Bond's callous hands playing with his messy curls, stroking his temple with his thumb. The more minutes passed the less he could feel Bond's touch, until it stopped, and he heard the steady rhythm of his boyfriend's breathing. He sighed lightly, resigning to his inability to shush out the ticking of the kitchen clock. He might as well throw it into the garbage the next morning. He might as well forget what he wanted to do with it, because he fell asleep without noticing.

Q woke up with a sunlight beaming on his eyes, and the smell of toast flooding the little, messy flat he shared with double-oh-seven, who was pouring his quartermaster a cup of earl grey –no sugar– while his coffee brewed. He was still wondering what had gotten into Q.

They were two weeks away from their first anniversary as a couple, and the thought made him want to laugh. He hadn't celebrated any romantic anniversary of sorts with whomever in a long, long time. But then, Q wasn't another whomever for Bond, he was well… him. Incredibly intelligent, and a little bit of an idiot as well. Dorky, with nerves of steel unless you got him into a plane, or took him too much by surprise. He rarely let go of his gadgets, and his favourite book was –strikingly– George Orwell's _1984_. Caring, incredibly honest, hard to impress, and nothing but strictly loyal. A little moody when hungry, the youngest of four siblings. He who played the piano, and detested zoos but was willing enough to get into them once in a while, because his favourite animals were giraffes, and cats –hence, the tabby cat they owned called Sybil.

He listened to the footsteps of said man's bare feet approaching to the kitchen. 

"Good morning, sunshine."

"Morning," Q said stretching, walking the distance between them to give him a slow, heavy kiss. "Why didn't you wake me up when you did?"

"You looked too comfortable." Q stretched his arms, clinging to Bond's neck, and hiding his face in his chest. He was wearing his shirt. "It's going to rain in the afternoon."

"It'll be a year of… us; it'll be a year in two weeks you know?" Q said, as if he lacked the acknowledgement of 007's comment about the weather, as if it was –and it was indeed– unimportant. 

"Of course I know. What of it?" Anyone who wasn't him, who didn't know the lanky young man as he did, would think the statement was as inoffensive as his own comment about the possibility of rain. But James knew better, and slowly he could begin to foresee what had gotten into his adorable –too much for his own good– boyfriend last night.

"Well… I have no idea what to, you know, give you."

"Oh" he smirked, he loved when Q behaved like a 7 year old boy asking permission to join the chess club after school. "You don't need to get me anything. I'm just happy spending time with you, alone, just you and I. I don't require anything but your presence, preferably: naked."

"So you don't want anything then?" Q asked, looking frustrated, and incredibly puzzled, as if he had calculated an equation's result wrongly, but he was unable to find his mistake. Bond thought he looked like a kitten searching for a lost laser beam.

"No."

"OK."

"Now the matter is settled, I have an idea."

Bond cupped Q's chin with his thumb and index finger, and kissed him. Lightly, chaste at first, a little bit more into it then. He let his tongue taste, and marvel with Q's, he let it lick his lips, and then he bit them, softly. And that was it. He chocked a little giggle when Q lowered his hands to his waist, pulling the agent closer to him, holding him tighter, leaving his mouth to kiss his jaw, his nose, his cheeks, to lick his earlobe. Bond growled softly, feeling his own erection, and his boyfriend's, beginning to harden their cocks. 

Bond got one of his steady hands to Q's groin, fondling his balls, and then stroking his shaft with a light twist. Q –his Q– muttered a lonesome _shit_ , and let himself get lost in the touch, his head hanging back. Until he lifted it, to kiss Bond, to kiss him hard, putting his hands on his chest, the blonde man getting the signal, and letting his boyfriend's dick go. Q lead his mouth away from Bond's off to his neck, his collarbone, his chest, his belly, getting on his knees, cupping the agent's balls, and taking him in his mouth.

Bond was out of his mind –no, he was batshit, goddamn insane– if he thought Q wasn't going to get him a present. He'd been in love before, Q'd celebrated anniversaries (or sort of) before, but never one that really mattered. He hadn't been in love with others like he was in love with James, it had never been as important as it is with him: Bond's a bit blunt, but he understands Q above all, and when he doesn't he still lets him be. He's always there, it doesn't matter if he's lying next to him, or at the other end of the line, listening to his voice on the earplug in his ear. He wanted to get him a present because he deserved it. So screw whatever he claimed about presents.

"Q… Q I'm…" _coming_ , he knew by the sounds he was making. He swallowed dutifully, and when he cleaned the corners of his mouth, his green eyes looked at Bond –who was observing him– with a guileless, nonchalant look.

"Come here" Bond said, kissing Q when he got up, tasting himself in his mouth. "Someone should give you a medal for such wonderful way of saying 'good morning'"

Yes, it was settled, screw what Bond claimed, he was getting him something. But what on earth was he going to get him?

* * *

007 had a mission, in Slovenia, so he was going to pay a visit to Q branch –and by extension to him– at any time now. He had already checked the implications of the mission, so he was checking the gadgets he had chosen for him. Q sighed, and hoped they returned in one piece, but knew it wasn't likely to happen. Bond's ease to leave Q branch's gadgets unusable hadn't lessened with their relationship. 

"Are you going to get me something?" Q asked a while after he had finished explaining everything, concentrating on how Bond was strapping his watch.

"What?"

"For our anniversary"

"Maybe"

"You can begin with trying to return everything in one piece. And yourself intact… OK, so, I can't get you something, double-oh-seven, because you don't want anything, but you'll _maybe_ get me something?"

"Stop. Thinking. About. It"

"Make me."

"Oh, I will, you just wait." He kissed him quickly, while no one was looking. "I have to go."

"Bye. Please return the Walther this time!" He remarked as he watched Bond walk away. He turned, and smiled, winking an eye to him. 

_Fucking show off… he's going to return everything in pieces now, won't he?_

* * *

 One week left. Bond was returning tomorrow. He was alive, no major injuries this time, just a scratch or two –thank goodness– but as he predicted, most of the equipment was gone. The Walther PPK remained intact at least, and the earplug, the original earplug, so he could consider it more or less a win/win situation. However, he still had no idea what on earth was he going to get him.

A watch? Too pedestrian. A collection watch, engraved? No, it didn't seem right, it wasn't a bad idea, but despite Bond's love for watches, it wasn't a personal statement (and he was thinking about getting him a watch for his birthday). He needed to find him the biometric Walther PPK –9mm, short– of gifts. A scotch? Out of the question. A car? Too tacky, not like any of them used a car in London anyhow. A coupon for a wild night of steamy, kinky sex with him? Not like he actually needed a coupon. 

He was sick of on-line window shopping, and he realised it was maybe the time to get someone to help him. Eve was his only option, but he was still reluctant to ask her. This was a lost case, why is it he couldn't think of a proper gift for someone that mattered? He always blocked out, it happened with his grandmother, it had happened with his parents. It now happened with Bond. He left his office to make himself another cup of tea.

"What's wrong with boss?" Said an olive skinned intern. "He's been acting weird all week."

"What do you mean by weird?" asked another, who was sitting, working on circuits.

"He's acting like he has half of his mind elsewhere, I don't think he's ever acted so inattentive."

"Maybe he had a row with 007."

"Nah, I don't think so. They've been together a long time now, and Q has never been like this. He wasn't even behaving like this in the beginning."

"I just hope it's nothing serious… poor boss."

Miss Moneypenny entered Q branch, filling the room with the characteristic sound of high heels against hard floor. She headed straightly for Q's office, but she deterred herself from walking forward as soon as she realised Q wasn't there.

"Excuse me, where's Q?"

"The kitchen." The interns answered quickly. 

She found him at the employee kitchen in Q branch, waiting for the water to boil, eyes lost to the offing. If she hadn't spent enough time trying to observe Q, she began the moment she realised Bond fancied him, not because of jealousy (in fact, she couldn't care less whom 007 decided to fuck) but for genuine interest, Q was as much of a shadow as Bond himself. If she hadn't invested herself in trying to figure out something about his character, she would've thought he was just absent, just waiting. But she knew a bit better, and his idle inertia could only mean he was on the brink of desperation.

"Earth to Q."

"Uh?"

"Where are you today? Relax, the mission went alright, he's coming home."

"I know. If you are here I assume something came up."

"M wants to talk to you."

"Have I done something wrong, and I have no idea what it is?"

"No, not that I know. Your interns are worrying about you, is something wrong?"

"No, not at all." Eve knew he was lying, and Q was aware she noticed, but Eve kept silent. Silence very much appreciated by the quartermaster who left his tea unattended in the kitchen, following Eve steps towards M's office. Technically she could help, and maybe a lot more than Q believed, however, Q knew despite being liked, and approved by the woman, her loyalty was biased towards his boyfriend, and she might tell. He didn't know her that well, and he couldn't afford to ruin the surprise. Even though odds had begun to favour lack thereof. 

"You called me, sir." Q said sheepishly after closing the door. 

"Yes, I did. Please have a seat. Brandy?" Mallory made a gesture showing him to sit in one of the chairs in front of his desk. Q declined the drink.

"So, Q. First of all, congratulations are in order: you have been part of two vert successful double-oh-agent's missions: 001, and 007… who is why you are here today. Before you say anything, don't worry, I couldn't care less if you were making regular use of the cafeteria pantry, and had dinner somewhere every night, having as only regard not yet given both of you my best wishes. On the other hand, as head of an institution like MI6 I still couldn't care less about it, and still would be wishing you the best, as long as it doesn't compromise the safety of Q branch, the 00-operatives, Bond, you, and above all the country and institution itself" M made a pause, Q's green eyes were fixated on what he was doing, because he had no idea of what on earth was happening.

"Breathe boy, such is not the case" Mallory continued. "I've come to the notion you'll soon celebrate your first anniversary, am I right?"

"Yes."

"On which date?"

"The fifth of November, bonfire night sir."

"Bonfire night… I hate that holiday… So the fifth. Listen Q this is a direct order from the head of this institution, I'll inform Bond as soon as he's back: I don't want to see either of you working that day unless someone is about to murder Her Majesty the Queen, or if this building burns to its foundations, am I clear?"

Q opened his eyes in disbelief. What the hell had happened? These things happened? Would it have happened when M –the real M, at least for Bond, M now will always be Mallory for his boyfriend– was in charge? He doubted it. Elation followed bewilderment, and now he was grinning like a schoolboy: the naive, open, honest grin Bond was so incredibly fond off. For a second he forgot about the gift, and just melted in his chair. If someone dared to try to kill the queen that day, Q would track those bastards, and burn them himself, same if they decided to burn or make explode the MI6.  

"Thank you, thank you so very much sir."

* * *

Mallory was standing in his office, phone in hand waiting for the other end to make connection. If he didn't know Q and his abilities, that were far more lethal than any double-oh-agent already, he wouldn't have believed it when he saw the cheshire cat grin on his face. The youngest quartermaster in the history of MI6… this kid was going to be great, maybe he would be sitting on this very office one day.

He truly did want both of them to be happy. Sadly, he didn't believe they could. They were a pair of workaholics, and Q hid it well, but he was just as proud as 007, and field work could deteriorate any relationship. It wasn't a theory of his, he knew because it had happened to him while he was in the army. 

"Bond."

"007, hello."

"M, sir."

"I talked to our quartermaster about the favour you asked me, I didn't tell him you were behind this, but you should've seen his face. If you want I can tell tanner to send them to you."

"Thanks, but no thanks sir."

"Remember to pay me a visit when you arrive."

"As I always do, sir."

* * *

 Was this how damsels in distress felt? And why was he comparing himself with a damsel in distress? The thought of telling Bond lingered, he would surely laugh. _Are you going to swoon as well? Are you trying to get me into role play?_ Or something of sorts would come out of his mouth, and Q would just laugh back, because he couldn't help it. But laughing out loud would be a bad idea, he was certain he was going to sound maniacal. 

Two days left, and still no gift. He had thought about a suit, a watch, a night picnic, a weekend getaway, a dog –even if Q himself was allergic to dogs– engraved cufflinks, a flat screen TV –useless, they already had a telly, and they rarely paid any attention to it– a car, half of the flat, bulletproof everything, but nothing seemed right. The more he thought about, the worse it got, to the point he just could relate Bond's present to algorithms, because he had no idea of what he was thinking in any more.

The man himself pretended he didn't notice. He had a PhD in dealing with Q in stressful situations –he had graduated with honours after last year's disaster in South Africa where they  had thought him dead. Q had to take a plane there, and then they took Q as a hostage– and repeatedly told himself he should've known Q wouldn't let the matter slip away, and would get him something at all costs. _Bloody charming bastard_. 

"OK. He's driving me insane, there's something wrong with your boyfriend." voiced Eve, driving Bond away from his trail of thought.

"I know there's something wrong with him."

"Well, do something then!"

"I can't, he is very persistent, Q is not going to just drop the matter, devil-may-care of what I tell him, he's just going to stick to whatever he's planning" Eve looked at him with an eyebrow up, unsure of what the agent meant. "It's the anniversary present" she had to consider herself lucky, because she was the only person Bond talked to about these things, and he told very close to nothing. Maybe that was why things just worked with Q, they weren't the type of kiss-and-tell.

"He thinks you'll discover what it is?"

"No, he doesn't know what to get me."

Q was working on Q branch's omega site, not really paying attention to what he did –he knew what he was doing anyhow– instead he was more letting his mind wander off to wherever it pleased. Maybe he'll get an idea, even if he had already lost all hope.

Q could've been so many things: a mathematician, a professor, a criminal mastermind, a piano concertmaster, or even a photographer. He had always been the aesthete in his family, and he kept a collection of cameras he often used in whatever subject he fancied. Lately his muse had been Bond. Occasionally he and Bond as well. 

Q lacked the pursuit to find out why he has had this fascination with capturing the world in a 3' x 5' piece of paper since he was a little boy. Maybe because he liked light games, or colours. Maybe he liked faces, and the secrets hidden behind an expression. Maybe it was identities, and how clothing, an expression, or a certain background portrayed an identity to who he was photographing. An identity not mandatorily real, or accurate. Maybe he liked photographs because they were a secret of a secret, more than a story. He looked at Bond, who was looking at him work, on the other side of the branch, talking to Eve Moneypenny.

An agent, a provocateur –it was part of his nature– you knew nothing about him at plain sight. And you needed to know more. No wonder he had spent much time photographing him: there was this one picture of both of them sitting on the couch of their flat. He had taken it with the timer, taking beforehand as much time as he needed to set it right, so the light was perfect. In the end the photo ended up with a (unintended) light leak. It wasn't technically perfect, but it was his favourite. James –not Bond or 007 this time, James– looked relaxed, looked at ease, at home. Q himself looked content, as if he was really happy with everything, which was rare – _insatiable perfectionist, what a nightmare you are kiddo_ – their cat, Sybil, was out of focus, on the background.

He had taken it three months ago, and it wasn't perfect, but he never the less loved it. 

Q had never been struck by lightning, but he wondered if this was how it felt, because he had fallen off his wood and leather stool, taking the mouse with him to the floor. The interns lifted themselves from their work stations to see what had happened, but before anyone could stand up, Q was back on his feet. Showing off that schoolboy smile, like only he knew how. Bond was laughing, which kind of scared everyone because he always looked either completely bored, or as if everyone else were monkeys.

* * *

 4th of November.

Q couldn't believe he was going to be –again– the last one to leave. 

"You're still here?" he lifted his head from the computer screen. Bond was wearing a suit, and a coat… like the day they met. He wasn't aware his boyfriend was that much of a romantic. 

"Don't play coy; it doesn't suit you as much as it suits me." He always got him to smile when he mimicked his words.

"I've heard that one before, or at least something very similar," Q snorted as a reply. "Leave it."

"I want to finish this."

"Is it of national urgency?"

"No, but..."

"Then shut up, and leave it to rot. Grab your coat, or I'll make you."

"Are you kidnapping me, 007?"

"No. I'm taking you dancing. I know you like to dance, actually dance. I know a place."

_Of course the pompous arse knows a place. God, I love this man so much I hate him._

* * *

 

 

  _You do something to me,_

_something that simply mystifies me._

_Tell me, why should it be?_

_You have the power to hypnotise me._

 Bond was singing in his ear. He had actually taken him to a dance saloon, and not to those places with stupid, dreadfully catchy pop music. Q was very particular about his music taste, and when it wasn't jazz or blues, the music he liked was not very known by the masses. "You know this song?" Q asked amused.

"I'm older than you kiddo."

"Oh, I know Bond, I know."

"You should have been a comedian Q. And well, I often wake up to your Ella Fitzgerald vinyls."

"Oh, Oh, I know this one."

"Who doesn't kiddo? It's Frank Sinatra."

"Shut up, and let me sing… _I've got you under my skin, I've got you deep in the heart of me. So deep in my heart that you're really a part of me, I've got you under my skin._ "

There were people looking. Of course there were, but neither of them cared if they were uncomfortable looks, or amazed looks. Bond hoped for the latter though, because Q was an incredibly good dancer. Q had told him his grandmother had taught him how to dance, with the same vinyl records Q now owned. _Dancing, and sex: happy anniversary Q_. That was what Bond had in mind, because he might not be the present type, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to do anything to see the bright smile on Q's face he liked so much.

* * *

He wanted him to go fast: fast, and hard, and he wanted Bond to burn him. And he was, but he was taking it uncommonly slow, taking all the time in the world to pleasure him. He had fingered him slow and deeply, twirling his fingers against his prostate, and now he was shagging him slowly, deeply, passionately, while fisting his cock with a light twist, and the right amount of pressure –a practice perfected over the time– he could feel Bond's glans against his prostate, and he was just blabbering a plea for Bond to just let him fucking come.

Bond himself didn't know if it was the high of dancing, but Q felt so hot and tight, so incredibly good he just wanted to see him wrecked. He nibbled Q's earlobe, and he got a sequence of curse words tangled around his own name in return – _Oh fucking hell, you… shit… James… fffuuck_ – then a snorted grunt of disgust when he left him empty to turn him around, to take him on his knees. 

"You want me to thrust, don't you?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake… _please_ …" instead of thrusting he begun sucking his balls, and then moving to his cleft, leaving Q as a moaning, incoherent wreck. He bit his inner thigh, and pumped his shaft a bit more, and then he went in again. And this time Q had to cling to the headboard, because Bond has fucking him mercilessly, making him come first, with a moan and his name – _James_ – Bond himself followed shortly after, collapsing on top of him, both of them panting, sticky, and smelling of each other.

"Not even if I give you three blowjobs a day, I'm ever reaching the level of epic of that shag" Q said when he could finally recover his breath. Bond was stroking his back.

"Q… I love you."

"I love you too, James."

"I know," Q got up to clean himself, James just watched. "I'm taking a shower, because I need one, are you joining me?"

"No, not this time, enjoy yourself, kiddo. Oh, and happy anniversary."

"Happy anniversary!" Q yelled in return, before getting himself into the shower. When he was out, Bond had fallen asleep. The odds where in his favour: if he had to work all night, then he would. He finally found a gift that would do.

* * *

 When Bond woke up Q wasn't by his side, but there weren't any sounds coming from the bathroom, or the kitchen; just a lonesome 'meow' of Sybil demanding his attention. He petted the cat a few seconds –he had grown incredibly fond of it, which was a marvel since he was not a cat person– and then got up, he wanted to know where the hell Q was. He put on his briefs, and he stopped wondering where his boyfriend was when he was mid-hallway. 

The brunette man had borrowed his shirt –as he usually did – and lay sprawling across the couch, a hand under his cheek, his glasses laying on the floor. In front of him, above Q's waist-tall bookshelf, there was a 36' x 60' canvas, filled with what Bond thought were every single photograph Q had ever taken of them two, but mostly, of Bond. There were a lot of them which he didn't recognise, which he didn't have the slightest idea Q had once snapped them. A pair of scissors also lay forgotten on the Union Jack rug in front of the shelf. 

There were blurry photos, too close close-ups, black and white photos, polaroid pictures. There was one photograph of him standing on the stairs at the entrance of the National Gallery. He remembered Q taking it, but not having seen it before. He looked at it for a long time, with Q's rhythmic breaths as background music. On top of the shelf there was a picture frame he hadn't seen. It was a simple metallic frame, with a picture of the both of them sitting on the couch. The photograph has a light leak, and they looked… happy. 

"Whut 're you doin'?" Q muttered half asleep, touching Bond's calves lightly with the tip of his fingers. 

"Wake up, sleeping beauty."

"Please don't call me that way," Q complained grabbing his glasses, sitting up, and then stretching, making a too orgasm-like moan. "I already have too much with 'kiddo'."

"When did you do this?"

"Last night. I didn't want you to see it before, so it was the only time I had."

"Are these all the pictures you have ever taken of us?"

"No," Q said humbly, hugging his boyfriend from behind his back, pressing his head between his shoulder blades. "I have a lot more. These are just my favourites."

"Even if some of them are blurry and off focus?"

"I know they are not perfect, but I love them nevertheless. You see, photographs are provocateurs; they hold the secret of a secret, they are like you. And also like us: not perfect, but I love them still. Maybe I like them more because they're not perfect."

Bond needn't be told that that was his anniversary present. 

"You know, I really do meant it when I said that I was just happy spending time with you. I was more than happy with seeing your smile while you were dancing. An activity you excel at, by the way. Tell me again, what are you doing working with computers?" Q let go of a laugh.

"Protecting your arse from getting shot, and fixing the trail of chaos you leave wherever you go" He kissed his shoulder.

"I didn't know you were such a romantic to do… this."

"I didn't know _you_ were either. You took me dancing, _and_ in a particularly similar clothing style to the one you were in when we met each other."

"I was?" Oh, so that wasn't on purpose. "Did I win extra points for it?"

Maybe he did, maybe he didn't. It was superfluous either way. They had a whole day for being on their own, courtesy of (Bond) M, and Q fancied breakfast. So breakfast, and morning sex it was. A day of tea mugs, and just a quartermaster with his favourite double-oh-agent. James, and Q. Q, and James. 

And a picture with a light leak, on a frame, above a bookshelf.

**Author's Note:**

> First of all: THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU to my awesome betas Katelyn, and S (00Q-archive's lovely librarian). Everyone applaude them because you have no idea how tedious can get to beta any of my works. I'm so sorry, and I'm so thankful you don't even imagine. Secondly, littlemizzbacwards I hope this is of your liking, I did my best. 
> 
> The song Bond sings to Q while dancing is Ella Fitzgerald's "You do something to me" from her Cole Porter Songbook. The song Q sings, is "I've got you under my skin" from Frank Sinatra. I used Ella's instead of Cole's original because you have no idea how much I fucking love Ella Fitzgerald. 
> 
> Any OOC-ness is my absolute fault.


End file.
